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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743878">To Soar Without Grace</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillsAndInk/pseuds/QuillsAndInk'>QuillsAndInk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A/B/O, Alpha/Alpha, Blood, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Blood mage Dean, Bottom Cas Big Bang 2020, Cleric Castiel, Fantasy AU, Gore, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Omegaverse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:22:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillsAndInk/pseuds/QuillsAndInk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is an alpha and a cleric serving the gods of his kingdom and wielding their power in preparation to join a holy war. When he gets taken by the heretical high prince of a rival kingdom, Castiel knows his fate is sealed. That is, until prince Dean tries to persuade him to take on a mad quest to kill his father and end the holy war. With heretical magic Castiel can’t understand forcing him away from the gods he’s always served, Castiel joins Dean. But in the mountain wilderness in the dead of winter with only his sworn enemy for company, can Dean and Castiel get past their differences or will the war swallow them up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bottom Cas Big Bang 2019</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>HUGE, MASSIVE thank you to my artist, SolusCheese for gracing this fic with something beautiful. Their art masterpost is (almost up!!) so please check them out on Tumblr!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>       When the bells tolled on the monastery high in the Astian mountains, it could only have meant one thing. Castiel was no stranger to the bells, having heard them his whole life to announce the arrival of heretics. </p><p> </p><p>The iconoclastic blood mages of Raglos had killed Castiel’s parents and Castiel had been running from the bells ever since. That was, until he was taken in by a monastery once he presented his second gender and they realized Castiel’s gift. </p><p> </p><p>In communing with the gods, Castiel was able to wield their power. He was the first cleric to be born in over a century, and an alpha to boot. One would think that fact alone would bring Castiel more than a bare pallet, plain bread and thin gruel, and hours of transcribing holy text, but here he was. Stuck in a monastery on a mountaintop, waiting to become useful than the possibility of siring more cleric offspring. </p><p> </p><p>The day the bells tolled for the first time since Castiel was a child found him in the monastery’s kitchen with his best friend. </p><p> </p><p>Hannah was a lovely omega and an effortless priestess. Beautiful, poised, and able to recite all the prayers to each of the gods by heart, she would be abbotess before she was thirty, Castiel thought. He always paled in comparison to her. He stumbled over his prayers and always managed to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. All Castiel was good at was properly finding the right prayer beads on his necklace. He communed with the gods clumsily, but at least he could commune. Hannah could pray and pray and never know if she’d been answered. But she was pious and true. Castiel was...well, he tried his best. </p><p> </p><p>He could <em> feel </em> the gods, though. Their brushes of emotions, the images of divinity sent directly into his brain and most important, refrains of holy speech in their own tongue, the ability to wield their power, <em> those </em> were Castiel’s gifts. He was a cleric, and an alpha and when he died, he would be sainted. His children would be able to commune with the gods and he was more than of age to mate and seed an omega heavy with his holy offspring. That was the plan, anyway. Castiel tried not to be too privately revolted. And in any case, it didn’t matter to the task at hand. </p><p> </p><p>“Damnit,” he groused as he cut himself a fourth time. Who knew that peeling onions was such a dangerous task?</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” Hannah shot back playfully. Her scent was cloyingly sweet, a comfort to Castiel, even if it didn’t make him want to mate her. “It beats cleaning up after the chickens.” She kneaded the dough that would become a hearty black bread. Castiel shuddered. The monastery’s chickens were beloved because meat of any kind was a coveted and rare delicacy, and the abbot rarely objected to the consumption of eggs. But good gods did they create mountains of shit.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s still a mountain of food left to prepare. Tell me again why Uriel thought it wise to have us do this alone?” Castiel tossed an onion aside and looked upon another heap of potatoes that needed peeling. He winced, looking down at his already injured fingers. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, so the mighty alpha-cleric is too good to sink to the level of chores,” Hannah said with a mirthful smirk, “well thank you, milord, for gracing the kitchen with your presence.”</p><p> </p><p>Castiel rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I mean. Besides, you outrank me,” he reminded her. Hannah grinned and bumped shoulders with him. Technically it was true amongst the hierarchy of the monastery, but alphas were always dominant to omegas and betas in Astia. </p><p> </p><p>“We’re doing the gods’ work,” she said, “it’s not always fun, but we have to pray, and keep the shrines clean, and feed ourselves so we can keep doing it. Have reverence, Castiel. <em> You </em> can speak with the gods. You must know their gratitude.” Hannah’s cheeks were slightly flushed with holy fervor and Castiel felt a swell of affection for his friend. </p><p> </p><p>He idly reached for his prayer necklace and thumbed the bead for Orsa, the goddess of the moon and winter. She was Castiel’s patron and his champion among the divine. She sent him the impression of an affectionate smile, as cold and gentle as moonlight. She clearly approved of this conversation. Castiel was not fooled. Orsa tended to be tolerant and kind with him, but she had driven clerics mad that had disobeyed her. She was a ruthless goddess, and vengeful. In the endless war against Raglos and its blood heretics, Orsa had destroyed nearly as many clerics as the Ragloans had. She was the principal reason why clerics had become extinct, besides the heretics. Castiel should have felt much more honored to have been chosen by her. He would do her proud.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m never alone,” he confided in Hannah, much to her obvious delight and wonder. “The gods are always with me. They always tell me what they’re feeling.” Which was true. His thoughts, his privacy, his beinghood was gone. Castiel was a cleric, the mortal voice and instrument of the gods. To an extent, it was a deep comfort. Castiel had a purpose in this life. He had a path he could not deviate from, and that knowledge alone soothed some of his soul after the deaths of his parents.</p><p> </p><p>But. </p><p> </p><p>In the deepest parts of him, there was a restlessness he didn’t even <em> think </em> about. A restlessness that wanted real friendship, not just admiration from priestesses and a promise of his choice of omegas once the time came. He wanted something that was all his own, that neither the gods nor anyone else could touch. In the part of him that Castiel would never admit to and would likely die without fulfilling, he wasn’t so sure that a defined destiny was all it was cracked up to be. But Castiel kept that part hidden. His purpose was more important than his desires. He alone could end the war with Raglos and end heresy once and for all.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re so <em> lucky </em> ,” Hannah said, with a huge smile, “I would give my heart to be in your position. To know the will of the gods just <em> once </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s incredible,” Castiel said honestly. <em> And a burden </em>, he tacked on so quietly even the gods wouldn’t hear. Even the barest hint of the thought made him guilty. He was put on this earth for a purpose. He should be grateful to be a cleric, let alone under the patronage of Orsa. </p><p> </p><p>Castiel was broken from his thoughts by the bells. Horror began like an explosion deep in the pit of his stomach. The monastery was deep in the mountains of Astia. The war with Raglos was supposed to be on the border. How had they broken through? It didn’t matter. Castiel dropped the onion he was working on and ran up to the main hall in the monastery, Hannah right on his heels. Castiel peered out a small window. The sight was grisly. </p><p> </p><p>Ragloan blood mages filled the yard at the front of the monastery. They slashed razors across their own arms and hands and allowed their blood to drip onto the cold earth. Raw, heretical power crackled in the air. The monks of this monastery were warriors, but no one could withstand the onslaught of blood magic. There was simply nothing to fight. Only a cleric stood a chance. </p><p> </p><p>Orsa’s rage filled Castiel’s mind unbidden. Her cold power breathed into him. He hadn’t even needed to thumb his prayer beads. His goddess had simply known. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on,” he whispered to Hannah. His fingers twitched with divinity. Hannah nodded. She trusted him implicitly, an honor Castiel was never sure he deserved. He’d never earned it. But her trusting him was the same as her trusting the gods, so it had long since stopped surprising him. In any case, she was an omega and would always be sub dominant to him. </p><p> </p><p>They crept out of the main hall and out into the chicken yard. The wind was glacial, and Castiel was grateful for his thick woolen habit.  From there they snuck inelegantly through a hedge to get to the fighting. A branch snagged on Castiel’s habit and tore the sleeve. Castiel froze. If it had scratched his skin and made him bleed, he was done for. Heretics could use more blood than simply their own. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found no injury. He looked back at Hannah. She looked absolutely ferocious. She smiled beautifully at him and Castiel felt his nerves turn to iron. If Hannah who wasn’t a cleric had no fear, neither should he.</p><p> </p><p>Feeling grounded, Castiel burst through the hedge, hands twitching in cold divinity already muttering holy speech to draw the incantations forth. Two heretics were slashing their arms and advancing on Inias and Samandriel, two of the youngest at the monastery, both orphaned by blood mages, just like Castiel. They were of no real interest to the abbot but Castiel knew better. The young men looked fierce and were holding aloft twin bardiches. It didn’t matter. The heretics had their blood magic and not even those cruel staffs would save their lives. </p><p> </p><p>Castiel didn’t hesitate. He shouted Orsa’s spell and the heretics were frozen in their place. They dropped to the ground, blood still running down their arms, spells unfinished and useless, Orsa’s ice enveloping their once beating hearts. Castiel had no taste for death, but that didn’t mean he shied away from it. Some things needed to be smote. With another whispered phrase, another heretic fell to the ground. Castiel advanced, choosing another enemy fell, when he heard a soft moan of pain. Castiel froze just as if Orsa’s ice had encased him. </p><p> </p><p>Hannah.</p><p> </p><p>He spun in the direction of his friend and stopped up short in horror. Hannah looked as serene as ever, except for the crossbow bolt that sprouted cruelly from her chest. Blood drenched her front in a thick, dark cascade. Her throat convulsed as she fought for breath. She coughed delicately and sent another flood of blood up from her lungs. Castiel felt weak. He didn’t know how to stand. He couldn’t even form the words to work some divinity. He didn’t know anything without Hannah. His eyes filled with tears of grief and rage. Hannah’s sweet scent of flowers in springtime was covered by the iron reel of blood and she fell face down in the dirt. Somehow, that sickened Castiel even more. Hannah was supposed to be abbotess. She was supposed to die surrounded by sacrament and divinity. Not like this. Never like this. </p><p> </p><p>Power bubbled up within Castiel. Power that didn’t feel like Orsa’s divinity. Power that felt like a river flowing through him, cleaving him in two. Castiel’s body couldn’t contain it. He was angry and his grief threatened to crush him. His spine bowed under the weight. Tears slipped from his eyes. The power within him roiled. </p><p> </p><p>Castiel <em> screamed </em>. </p><p> </p><p>The power flooded out of his body in a dizzying wave. He sank to his knees in exhaustion. He heaved shuddering breaths. Hannah beside him heaved no breaths at all. She was in the hands of the gods now. There was nothing Castiel could do. Castiel raised his head. And was met with bodies. Heretics, all, dead with their eyes burned out of their heads. Castiel’s grief was put on hold for a few moments to stare. What had happened? It must have been Orsa. She must have blessed his anger. Castiel touched his prayer beads and sent her a prayer of thanks. Orsa replied with a flinty feeling against his senses. Was she angry...at him? Castiel had no time to try to muddle through Orsa’s mood. A flood of heretics entered through the front gates. With his goddess in a foul mood and no more power left, he was weak against even the worst blood mage. </p><p> </p><p>The <em> clop clop </em> of a mountain pony made Castiel’s head snap to the left. Blood mages generally had no need for horses. They used their magic to give themselves stamina, or at least, that’s what the soldiers at the front said when they came to the monastery to pray. Only one blood mage rode a horse. Dread filled the pit of Castiel’s stomach. He was going to die. </p><p> </p><p>In through the gates of the monastery came the high prince of Raglos, the most accomplished blood mage of them all. The stories of him were horror incarnate and he was here. <em> Now </em>. </p><p> </p><p>The high prince rode directly toward Castiel. His horse wasn’t a mountain pony. It was massive as any horse Castiel had ever seen. With long, strong legs and a wide, sturdy body, it could have easily carried two men. And yet, it still managed to look regal and glossy. Castiel reached out to Orsa but was still met with flinty silence. Panic bubbled up in Castiel’s stomach. He was going to die like this. As he got closer, Castiel was able to see his patrician features. The perfect build. His strong scent that clearly bespoke him to be an alpha. The Ragloan high prince had a face that could only be described as without flaw except for one thing. Scars mangled his right eye and came very close to the left. But the left was a clear jade green while the other was trapped behind a milky film. If nothing else, the high prince of Raglos was at least partially blind. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice Castiel at all. That was a foolish thought. The high price still had a nose. </p><p>         </p><p>“Well, well, well,” the high prince called out. He reached for a razor and slashed his arm. With the blood came a spoken incantation that Castiel couldn’t fight. He was held stock still by the high prince by magic. He would die just like Hannah, at least. It was all he could do. The high prince merely smiled roguishly. “Look what we have here. A cleric in Astia once again.”</p><p><br/>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>      Castiel gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t answer heretic scum. The high prince would have to slash his body to ribbons to get Castiel to talk. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s quiet,” the high prince remarked. Another Ragloan blood mage rode up beside him. Her hair was fiery red and she wore an eyepatch. Castiel watched her warily and discreetly inhaled. Omega. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you really expect him to talk to you?” She asked. Her tone implied that she thought the answer was obvious. It made Castiel feel oddly proud. Even blood mages knew that Astians were tough-willed. The gods didn’t abandon their people so easily. The high prince lifted a shoulder and let it drop again. </p><p>       </p><p>“What are we supposed to do? Torture answers out of him?” Castiel’s stomach dropped like a stone. He’d never experienced torture. He didn’t know if he’d even survive it. He sought out Orsa’s presence for strength but her back was still turned on him. Odd. Horrifically, wrongly odd. What had he done?</p><p>      </p><p> “I’m sure that’s what your father would say,” the blood mage said delicately. Castiel wasn’t sure if they even knew he could understand their language. He was sure they wouldn’t be having this conversation if they did know. </p><p>      </p><p> “My father isn’t <em> here </em>,” the high prince spat. There was enough venom in his voice to kill the horse he was riding in but his companion did even blink. Castiel flinched. The high prince noticed. </p><p>        </p><p>“You can understand us, can’t you, cleric?” He demanded. Castiel’s insides shook, but he squared his shoulders and set his jaw. </p><p>      </p><p>  “Every Astian learns the language of scum. We can hear your heresy from miles away,” Castiel said in passable Ragloan. The high prince shared a look with the blood mage before twisting his mouth into a wicked smirk.</p><p>        </p><p>“Gods below, I love when they have spirit. You’re the best of them, cleric,” he said. The high prince slit his finger in an unseen razor and spoke a word of heretical magic. The magic slunk over Castiel, binding him more surely than any rope. It felt cloying and vile. Nothing like the cold winter of Orsa’s holiness. </p><p>         </p><p> “What have you done, you filthy heretic?” Castiel cried. He knew it was probably ill advised to be yelling at he captor, particularly when said captor was an accomplished blood mage <em> and </em> the high prince of Raglos. But what did it <em> matter? </em>Gods below, Hannah was dead. Most of the monastery suffered the same fate or were in a similar situation as Castiel. He had nothing to live for and nothing to lose. If his family was going to die anyway, Castiel would go right beside them and let the kingdom saint him and make him into a martyr. At least it would reignite the fire against Raglos and their heresy. <em> And </em> , whispered a tiny, cruel voice in Castiel’s head, <em> you won’t have to seed an omega </em>. Castiel couldn’t shake his head to rid himself of the thought, so he willed it away as best he could</p><p>     </p><p>The high prince didn’t react to Castiel’s outburst other than a raised eyebrow. He turned to the blood mage beside him. </p><p>          </p><p>“He’s bound. He’ll ride on my horse behind me. Can’t have such a pretty one getting away.” He winked at his blood mage. She rolled her uncovered eye. Then, in a seeming change of mood, pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. </p><p>    </p><p>  “My lord prince, are you <em> sure </em> that’s a good idea? If Zachariah tells your father…”</p><p>         </p><p>“Charlie, let me worry about him!” The high prince sounded exasperated. “Come on, cleric.” He seemed to tug on his magic and Castiel’s muscles moved of their own accord. His body clambered on the horse behind the high prince. His hands were magically dragged around the prince’s middle. Castile was horrified. This was a violation of everything holy. Without Orsa, Castiel had no hope of escape. Cleric indeed. Without Orsa, Castiel was simply a monk and a clumsy one at that. </p><p>        </p><p> “You’re vile,” he hissed in the ear of the high prince. The high prince simply raised a shoulder and let it drop. </p><p>        </p><p>“That’s what they all say, cleric.” He put his heels to the horse’s flanks and the beast lurched forward. Castiel had never ridden on a horse before, and quickly decided it wasn’t for him. The odd motion of it between his legs and the idea that it had a brain too and could bolt at any given moment was a terrifying thought. But he couldn’t  clutch tighter to the high prince, even as repugnant as that sounded. </p><p>     </p><p> The high prince turned to him. They were so close that Castiel could feel the prince’s breath-ghosts scud across his face. He could see all the tiny scars around his eyes. The one that blinded on one side, and the one that shot through the green on the other, nearly doing the same. He could smell the heavy scent of iron and woodsmoke and fine whiskey, the scent of a strong alpha. They could’ve kissed if Castiel just moved his face. </p><p> </p><p>   <em> No </em> . That was a terrible thought. To kiss a heretic. That sounded like something Hannah would say to make him splutter. <em> Hannah </em>. The high prince killed Hannah, even if it was indirectly. Castiel would do well to remember that. </p><p>    </p><p>  “Don’t tell anyone who you are, cleric,” the prince said. His voice was barely above a whisper. Castiel withdrew from him in shock. He did his best to rally quickly. He’s expected the prince to gloat. He’d expected there to be a scene made of his death. He expected to be harvested for heretical ceremonies. </p><p>     </p><p>  “So you can throw my body over a cliff? There will be more clerics, you know. <em> The gods will choose more </em> ,” Castiel threatened, though he wasn’t sure. Would they choose more without Castiel to seed them? They had before, he was the living proof but it had taken a century. Astia didn’t have that kind of time. Still, he lowered his voice to a menacing growl. The high prince’s face curved into something rueful and sad. The expression startled Castiel further. What could possibly lead to <em> that </em> expression. The prince should be gloating! He’d won. He’d captured the last cleric of Astia. Their blood magic could sweep through and devour all in its path. He was free to take the land. What the twelves hells was <em> wrong </em> with this gods-damned heretic? Castiel steeped himself. He realized he knew less about the enemy than he thought. He wished Orsa was there to offer him guidance. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure there will be. But you’re the only one now, so you’ll have to do,” the high prince said. </p><p> </p><p>“Have to do for what?” Castiel asked warily. Well. He’d never been the most intelligent one in the monastery. Why the hell was he asking questions that he’d never get answers to?</p><p>         </p><p>“<em> Shut up </em>,” the high prince whispered. His back straightened. His chin rose in defiance. Castiel was still frozen in the grasp of the prince’s magic and couldn’t make himself any less slumped, but he looked around alertly. A man was walking toward them. He looked sullen and sickly in the thin mountain air. He hardly seems the type that would make the high prince of Raglos tense up. The man bowed and a thin, insincere smile slid across his lips. Castiel sniffed  quietly and was surprised to discover another omega. Omegas were regarded as precious but lower than alphas in Astia. Castiel was shocked to see so many in a military and in high ranking positions at that. The Astian crown would never have allowed such an occurrence. The heretics were more backwards than Castiel had thought</p><p>        </p><p>“My lord prince,” he said. The prince remained unshifting. </p><p>           </p><p>“Zachariah,” he said. “I told you I needed you at the front. Where were you?”</p><p>         </p><p> “Perhaps his highness can forgive an old man for having other requirements to attend to?” The man’s grin unsettled Castiel. He seemed as oily as a serpent.</p><p>        </p><p> “I won’t. You defied my direct orders,” the high prince’s jaw set. </p><p>        </p><p> “Yes, but I had orders from his majesty <em> the king </em>. I’m sure even you can understand that he outranks you?”</p><p>       </p><p>   “Shut up, Zachariah. What are the king’s orders?”</p><p>          </p><p> “You are to return to Raglos. It’s time to find you a queen!” Zachariah’s time seemed far to gleeful to Castiel. He was missing something. From Orsa, no insight. He’d have to parse out this exchange by himself. Perhaps it could lead him to a means of escape.</p><p>           </p><p>“It can’t be time for the <em> Libuše </em>,” the high prince argued in dismay. </p><p>          </p><p> “Your father has decided it’s time, lord prince. You must return home and become who you are meant to be,” Zachariah said. His eyes were piggy and unblinking. Somehow, the high prince was preferable to this man, heretics though they both were. </p><p>        </p><p> “And if I don’t?” The high prince asked. Tension creased the spaces around Zachariah’s eyes. His smile became tight. He seemed to want the prince home in Raglos. Castiel couldn’t understand, but then again, he’d always been far from politics. Castiel’s path was blatantly clear. He was the mortal will of the gods. Nothing more, nothing less. He was meant to wipe heretics from the earth. But now his place in the world was being muddied. The heretic high prince that had likely ordered the death of his best friend now seemed to be protecting him from the rest of his people. Why? </p><p>     </p><p>“I wouldn’t advise you not returning home, my lord prince,” Zachariah said. “The king asked that I get you home <em> by all means necessary </em>.”</p><p>        </p><p>“Of course he would. But Zach, what can you really do to make me?” The high prince asked roguishly. He was charming. Castiel had to admit that. He likely used his charm as a weapon to get people on his side. Castiel would have to be cautious of that silver tongue. Zachariah’s mouth curved into a snarl.</p><p>        </p><p>“You will go back to Raglos. I will take over the front. Or your father will set the daemons on you!” Zachariah snapped. Castiel’s blood ran cold. The daemons. Castiel hadn’t thought them to be real anymore. They were a bedtime story, monsters used to frighten children. The daemons were a heretical cult that was obsessed with magic and blood. It was rumored that they experimented on the clerics they captured, stealing the divinity in their blood to twist their own blood magic further. They were mad. The high prince’s shoulders stiffened further.</p><p>      </p><p> “Since when does my father give orders to the daemons? They have their own king,” the prince demanded. Zachariah’s grin became smooth and slick once again. He thought he’d regained control, Castiel realized. </p><p>          </p><p>“There’s much you don’t know, princeling,” Zachariah said, dropping all pretenses of respect. “You should see how young prince Sam is faring! Such a studious boy. I heard His Majesty was discussing a trip to the Pit for him. I hear the daemon king would be pleased to have him as a recruit.” </p><p>     </p><p>The high prince winced as though he’d been physically struck. His back arched back as though he’d been hit with crossbow bolts. Castiel had never seen such a reaction in someone. </p><p>     </p><p> “How <em> dare </em> you say his name, you son of a <em> bitch </em>!” The high prince spat. </p><p>       </p><p>“Testy,” Zachariah purred. “Now, don’t think I don’t you aren’t going to take that prisoner off to the woods to fuck. Just hand him over and prepare to ride to Raglos tomorrow.” Castiel tensed. He realized that Zachariah likely also assumed he didn’t speak Ragloan. That was the only advantage Castiel had. </p><p>       </p><p>“No,” the high prince growled. He sliced a finger and sent a bolt of magic to knock Zachariah down. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and it leapt into a run. It was surprisingly agile over the rocky ground. Suddenly the horse stopped as though its muscles had turned to ice. Castiel looked over his shoulder. Zachariah was standing and his finger was bleeding. He approached them lazily. He was still grinning like a loon.  </p><p>        </p><p>“Your father will be so disappointed,” he said. “Really, we all expected better from you.” The prince tightened his hands on the reins. Castiel was angry. He was going to die alongside a seeming plot against the high prince of Raglos. This was ridiculous. Castiel was a <em> cleric </em>. He was supposed to die a warrior’s death. Power bubbled within him once again. Like a river of lava. Like a landslide. Unstoppable and needing to be released. It broke through the bonds of magic that the high prince had Snares him with. Castiel glared at Zachariah. </p><p>        </p><p> “I’m a cleric, you <em> ant </em>,” he snarled in Ragloan. Power rushed through him. The earth between Zachariah and him and the high prince split. The ground lurched and the horse began to move. The high prince seemed shocked, but once the horse was moving, he jolted into action. He kept it steady as it flew across the ground and into the woods surrounding the monastery. </p><p>     </p><p>They rode and rode and rode. They never slowed. If anything, the horse seemed to get quicker and quicker with each stride. The sky turned a stern grey and began to snow. Still they didn’t  slow until they reached a cave. It could conceivably be used for shelter, Castiel thought. They horse slowed to a stop and the high prince turned around in the saddle. He grinned, all handsome and roguish charm. His scent thickened alluringly Castiel stiffened. </p><p>        </p><p>“I’m Dean,” the high prince said. “And you’re gonna help me kill my father.”</p><p>        </p><p>   </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> “Excuse me?” Castiel demanded. His mind was reeling with questions. The past couple of hours had seemingly turned the world on its ahead and Castiel was surprised his still knew which way was up. The heretical magic that held him still trickled away and Castiel immediately prayed to Orsa for  the millionth time, even openly rubbed her bead on his prayer necklace, and was, for the millionth time met with a wall. Orsa has abandoned him, that much was clear. But he’d still been able to use magic! And it was nothing like her’s. Worry pitched in Castiel’s throat. His heart pounded. Did that make him a heretic too? Castiel clambered unsteadily out of the saddle and Dean followed suit. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re an alpha-cleric,” the high prince—Dean—said eagerly. Castiel certainly hoped that was still true. “Between the two of us, I figure the king’s as good as dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “Why do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to kill your king?” Castiel asked suspiciously. He raised a haughty eyebrow. Dean’s grin faltered. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s corrupt. Everyone says he’s becoming obsessed with the daemons. I think they’re right. And if he thinks he can get away with sending Sammy to the pit…” Dean shuddered with some deep emotion that Castiel couldn’t fathom. He met Castiel right in the eye and there was a hard glint in them. Dean’s eyes were madness incarnate, and yet, the lovely green of them fascinated Castiel. It was such an unusual eye color for Astia, even with scarred eyes such as Dean’s, they were stark. Castiel realized he was staring and looked away. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“And what does the high prince of Raglos want with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Castiel demanded. “I’m a cleric. We’ve been sworn enemies for hundreds of years, heretic. Do you expect me to forget what your people have done to mine? How they’ve defiled the gods!?” Dean’s ears went red. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m asking you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>end</span>
  </em>
  <span> a war. Without my father, there’s no fight,” he said stonily.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’ll allow the gods back into Raglos?” Castiel asked. He tried to keep his tone cold, but he felt a spark of hope. Perhaps they holy war could be won yet. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Damnit, cleric, I don’t care </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>people do. Worship or don’t. What does any of that matter to me?” Dean raked a hand through his hair, mussing it in the damp snow. The scent of his frustration poured off him and Castiel fought the urge to smooth his own head. His hair tended toward unruliness and he was, he realized with an embarrassed pang, in the presence of someone who had grown up with servants to attend to him. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “You won’t stop heretical acts?” Castiel asked. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “You just call it heretical because your gods call it wrong. There’s more than one way to be, cleric,” Dean said tiredly. Castiel gave him an affronted look. How dare he? The gods were the only way. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Your blood mages destroyed my entire monastery! They killed my best friend! You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Castiel spat. Dean stared right back at him, temper clearly rising. Angry alpha pheromones hung thick in the air, even blocking out the scent of snow. The horse snorted restlessly </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “I can barely see three paces in front of me. Haven’t you wondered why? You damned Astians. You’re all so high and mighty, acting like Raglos did everything wrong. Ever considered that there’s two sides to a holy war? It was Astian assassins that half blinded me. I was four. They burned my mother alive and came for my eyes. I’m the high prince of Raglos and I’m a laughing stock because I’m crippled </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> an alpha. Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell</span>
  </em>
  <span> me about loss, cleric. I understand it just as well as you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t…” What could Castiel possibly say? He hadn’t thought of it that way. He hated it, but the heretic was making sense, though part of it confused him.  </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “Of course you didn’t. Gods below, have you ever even considered the fact that us </span>
  <em>
    <span>heretic blood mages </span>
  </em>
  <span>might just be people?” Dean asked. His cheeks were flushed and his chest was heaving. Snow fell in thick flakes and got caught on his eyelashes. He looked like sin incarnate. Castiel swallowed. Blood mages had no right looking like that. For once, he was glad Orsa couldn’t hear him. She would smite him for his thoughts. It was just...Dean was beautiful. Especially with the snow landing gently in his hair. Castiel shook himself. What a dangerous line of thought. Still, he and Dean sought the same thing in some way. A tentative alliance couldn’t hurt, right? Not if he broke it off immediately afterwards. It would be like it never happened. It wasn’t like Orsa was listening. Castiel bit his lip. He stuck out a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“My name’s Castiel. I’ll help you kill your father.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean took his hand and squeezed it gratefully. He used it to tug Castiel in closer, just about a foot away from him. Castiel squirmed. He was unused to being so close to someone, let alone a heretic he’d only just met. Dean squinted his good eye and smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“There. Now you’re not all fuzzy. Nice to meet ya, Cas.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “Is your vision really that poor?” Castiel asked. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “Sure is. You get used to it though. First spell I ever learned was a perception spell so I can get around without stumbling,” Dean said. His smile was easy and warm. Castiel wondered how someone who’s eyes had nearly been taken by an Astian could smile at one with the power to do much worse. Well. Castiel </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>he could. Without Orsa and with heretical magic of his own treacherous body rising within him, Castiel couldn’t be sure. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “I couldn’t imagine not being able to see,” Castiel confessed. Dean shrugged a shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember being able to see well. I don’t even remember the assassins. I just woke up in my bedchamber and my mother was dead and my brother was crying and there were medics fussing,” Dean said. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel didn’t know what to say to that. Dean’s tone was casual. As if everyone was blinded at four years old. He felt guilty. He felt lost. Heretics were supposed to be his enemy. They were never supposed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he thought of all the heretics he’d killed today. They had been people, just like Dean. He thought of the blood mage with and eye patch. What Astian had done </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Clerics were meant to be saints, saviors, better than the average man because of their divine abilities. Perhaps Castiel wasn’t that. Perhaps he was just as bad as a blood mage. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “Hey, don’t worry about it,” Dean said. He looked nervous. “It’s just vision, right?” Castiel took a shuddery breath. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not,” Castiel said. He stepped away from Dean. “We’re trapped out here. We need to find food. Make a fire.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Dean said. He clicked his tongue and the massive black horse came to him. He took a bedroll and provisions from its saddle. He’d prepared for this, Castiel realized. Dean knew he’d be going to the woods, one way or another. Dean slid his finger along a razor that was concealed in the sleeve of his coat. Blood dripped into the snow. Castiel was not afraid of blood, but he did balk at the easy spilling of it, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary. Dean muttered a word and a fire lit at the mouth of the cave. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “Why blood?” Castiel blurted out. That wasn’t the question he meant to ask. “The gods willingly give their power. If you’re pious enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and they can take it away whenever they want,” Dean said. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you’ve sinned,” Castiel shot back.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“And who gets to decide that? Them?” Dean asked. Castiel felt his cheeks flush with anger. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The gods are </span>
  <em>
    <span>divine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Who are we to question them?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Free will, Cas, ever heard of it?” Dean asked, with an annoyed huff. “At least my power is mine. Plus, the gods can’t say I’m unworthy.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The gods only choose the pure, so that their power will be used for good,” Castiel argued. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“They can’t know that,” Dean said. “No one can know what anyone else will do.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “The gods chose </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Castiel snarled out. “They chose me. You asked for my help, heretic. Clearly you don’t think they chose poorly.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, the clearly didn’t choose you for your capacity for mercy. There wasn’t a mage left alive in that monastery yard.” Dean watched Castiel. Pain tightened the places around his eyes. He looked utterly somber in the way of someone who’d seen a lot of death. Castiel had not seen much death. Not before today, at least. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t even been there to witness his parents’ death. The old lady down the street had swept Castiel into a hidden corridor in her shop. She hadn’t let him see the carnage afterwards, just snuck him into a church that could properly care for him. Orsa has chosen him after that. The goddess was as much of a mother to his as his real one. And he’d grown up with Hannah. Castiel grieved them both with every beat of his heart. He wondered if his face looked as wrought with pain as Dean’s. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose they didn’t,” Castiel said.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not your fault. I've never met a god with kindness in them. They wouldn’t be the type to breathe it into their clerics,” Dean said wearily. Castiel had never considered his kindness before. Orsa had none. As much as he wanted to defend her, he couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re uncanny, aren’t you,” Castiel said instead. Talking with Dean filled him with shame. Dean shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “We’ve all done shit we regret. Especially me.” Dean began to roll out the bedroll. There was only one, but it was large. Castiel balked at bunking with Dean, but only because he’d never slept in that kind of proximity with anyone. Dean, in that short conversation, was becoming less and less of a heretic in Castiel’s mind. Well. He was one, but he was becoming a person. Not just an enemy. A person with a family and beliefs. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry,” he said. Dean gave him a soft, insincere smile.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No you ain’t, Cas, but it’s okay,” he said. “Just as long as your gods pull through when the time comes.” Castiel felt his stomach sink like a stone. Dean had been so very honest with him. He deserved to hear Castiel’s shame. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“She won’t,” Castiel admitted. His voice sounded small. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean ‘she’,” Dean asked. Castiel swallowed. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Orsa is my patron. She’s the goddess of winter and the moon. She grants me my power.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why won’t she come through? Is it because I’m a heretic?” Dean asked. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s...gone.” Castiel fought through a lump in his throat. “She abandoned me.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re powerless?” Dean asked. There was a harsh lilt to his words. He said </span>
  <em>
    <span>powerless</span>
  </em>
  <span> like he meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>worthless</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Castiel’s hands shook. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No. She left me after Hannah was killed. After I…” Cas trailed off.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>After</span>
  </em>
  <span> you dropped everyone like stones.” A slow, reassuring smile spread across Dean’s face. “Welcome to freedom, Cas.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know who I am if I’m not a cleric,” Castiel admitted in a horrified whisper. “I don’t know what to do if the gods aren’t giving me their advice.” Dean tossed Castiel a chunk of smoked meat. Castiel caught it startledly. But as soon as he did, he realized how ravenous he was. And meat was such a rare delicacy. Even though he was stuck in snowy woods with the high prince of a heretic kingdom, he would at least be able to eat luxuriously. He tore a chunk of meat off with gusto. Dean grinned at him and did the same. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothin’ like jerky to celebrate being free,” Dean said. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“This feels like a terrible freedom.” Castiel went into the cave, by the fire, to sit on the bedroll. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“There can also be comfortable shackles,” Dean said. He plopped down beside Castiel. “I know that for sure. I’d rather have freedom.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You never told me why you need blood to do magic,” Castiel said, changing the subject. He didn’t want to think about his relationship with the gods anymore. At least, not in this context. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Magic requires sacrifice,” Dean said. “We tithe the blood to make it work.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t have to tithe blood to make my magic work. When Orsa left me, I mean,” Castiel said.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be careful, Cas,” Dean advised. “You tithed </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I’d be wary till you know what it was.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel flopped back onto the bedroll. He felt fine...didn’t he? He didn’t know. The world had changed in a matter of hours. He closed his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll help you figure it out, Cas,” Dean said. He laid down beside him. Castiel could feel the warmth from his body. Castiel wasn’t sure what he wanted, so in lieu of reply he closed his eyes and fell asleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next few days passed by in a dull blur. Castiel and Dean were snowed into the cave. It wasn’t unusual for the snow in Astia to become violent, and apparently it wasn’t uncommon in the neighboring Raglos either, though Raglos had a much lower altitude and much fewer mountains. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>All in all, Castiel and Dean weren’t terribly unprepared. Dean had more than enough rations to last for a few weeks and with gifts of his blood, he was able to keep the fire glowing and warm without needing to go out and seek firewood. The horse was faring the worst of them. It—</span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dean had told Castiel reproachfully—had been able to be coaxed into the cave and Dean was able to melt enough snow to find dead grass beneath it, but according to Dean, it held little nutrition for her. Castiel was worried if she would make it to Raglos. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The snow eventually let up after day four, and the sun began to weakly strain through the trees. The snow was deep and it would take at least another few days before the snow melted back to something manageable.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “We need to understand your power,” Dean said, upon observing the change in weather. “We need to know what you have to tithe and what you can do.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, clearly I can kill people,” Castiel said seriously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All magic can kill people,” Dean said wryly, “especially if  it’s untrained. Now, how did you make it happen?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Castiel replied honestly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know,” Dean repeated flatly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like I’ve committed heresy before,” Castiel shot back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Magic is all about intention,” Dean said. “You’re telling me you’ve been trained to be the hero of Astia and they haven’t even taught you </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t heretics. We don’t spill our blood for our own gain,” Castiel said. “Besides, it’s never mattered. Orsa gave me the magic I needed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Until she didn’t,” Dean pointed out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Castiel felt his heart break. “Until she didn’t,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady and hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Castiel snapped. What was wrong with this damn heretic? Couldn’t he see that Castiel was grieving? No, he couldn’t. He only saw the oppression of the gods. He couldn’t see that they found little boys and saved from the monsters that existed in his own kingdom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, what happened. You said your friend was killed. Then what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You callous ass,” Castiel snarled. “You speak of her death as though it’s nothing. Her blood is on </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>hands.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean strode forward until they’re we’re nose to nose. Part of Castiel knew that Dean was only doing it to be able to see him, but he was choking on the scent of iron and smoke, Dean’s particular brand of alpha rage. In Astia, Alphas were the dominant class by birth, but Castiel felt far from dominant with Dean in his face. The unbridled rage in Dean’s eyes cowed him more than he’d ever admit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t kill her, cleric,” Dean said. His voice was a growl. Castiel shivered. Deans posture was rigid, his chin high, making every bit of height he had on Castiel seem like a mountain rather than a molehill. A narrow scar drew a thin white line through the green in Dean’s good eye. He was close enough that Castiel could see it. Dean’s lip curled to reveal sharp canines, perfect for marking a mate. Castiel had to fight against his jaw’s instinct to slacken with a deep carnal want that Castiel hadn’t known himself to have. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Castiel still wanted to be angry. He wanted to shove Dean and get into a proper fight between two alphas, but he just couldn’t. He knew Dean hadn’t killed Hannah. “But you ordered it,” Castiel said, tone glacial.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. I. Didn’t,” Dean spat. His breath gusted hotly over Castiel’s face. “Gods below, Cas, I’m a fucking alpha. What power do you think I have?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Castiel was nonplussed. “You’re an alpha prince. You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> the power.” Dean stared at him incredulously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that how you live in Astia? No wonder my father is so adamant about continuing this holy war,” Dean said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, anger momentarily forgotten. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“King John of Raglos is an omega,” Dean said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Liar. An omega can’t be king,” Castiel said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t take you for a bigot, Cas,” Dean said. He almost sounded disappointed. How odd.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, they can’t. It’s the law. Alphas are dominant. Only they can rule, while omegas produce the next generation. They aren’t unimportant. Just not rulers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you know about rulers, cleric?” Dean asked. “Alphas are good for one thing only and that’s their seed. Omegas can create. Alphas can come. You see who’s superior here?” Castiel flushed at the crude language. It certainly wasn’t allowed at the monastery. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But surely you understand than alpha seed is the root of all life. An omega can’t spawn life and give birth all on their own,” Castiel reasoned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it is the union of and Alpha and an omega that makes life. But the alpha just fucks and ties and it’s over. The omega swells and labors and raises the child. Be thankful they still need our seed to make a baby. If they didn’t they’d have no use for us,” Dean said, a half smirk forming on his lips, seemingly on instinct.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course they need us! Who would protect them and mate them?” Castiel argued.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re right. Every country needs soldiers,” Dean said. His voice sounded defeated. His pheromones returned to their normal musk and Dean stepped away from Castiel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to figure out your magic, Cas. We’re lost without it,” Dean said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that why you want to kill the king?” Castiel blurted out. “Because you’re an alpha?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of all the shitty reasons to kill a king, that has to be the worst I’ve heard of,” Dean said. “No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was done answering those kinds of questions. Castiel was done asking too. It was clear that Raglos was worse off than he had been told. Alphas were made in the image of the gods. Omegas were not. That’s why Alphas mated Omegas and and why Omegas gave birth. It was their consolation prize that they should be able to continue the bloodline of the alpha. To be an Alphas mate was a privilege that most Omegas didn’t see. There were far more betas to be married to. Only Alphas could legally mate in Astia, a bond that was more sacred and binding as it was the way of the gods. Though, often if an alpha mated an omega, they would be married too. How could an omega rule? It made no sense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean cleared his throat. “Magic begins with a tithe. I don’t know what the gods tithe, but it’s something. I tithe blood. We need to figure out what you tithed to split the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>ground</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps I’m merely close to divinity,” Castiel said. “Perhaps I don’t need to tithe anything at all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everyone does,” Dean said grimly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I was feeling grief and fear,” Castiel said, “perhaps I tithed emotion?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean shook his head. “Good thought, but no. Magic needs something to feed off of that’s very tangible. Emotions can bring magic to the surface but there needs a tithe to bring anything to fruition.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well then I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> I tithed,” said Castiel in frustration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait.” A slow smile spread over Dean’s face. He sank his hand into his sleeve, a sure sign he was seeking his razor. Castiel’s suspicions were confirmed when Dean’s had re-emerged with a bloody finger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Heretic,” Castiel mumbled under his breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Try to do something. With magic,” Dean commanded in such a tone that Castiel felt compelled to comply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like what?” he asked. “I’ve never done magic for mundane things before. I’m a soldier.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stupid. You have to walk before you run, you know that, right Cas?” Dean asked teasingly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me. Not all of us had servants and tutors to explain how to use magic,” Castiel shot back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough. Here. Try to make the fire burn higher.” Dean said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, ha ha,” Castiel said. He eyes Dean’s  finger which steadily dripped blood onto the cave floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would’ve been the court jester if I hadn’t been John’s son,” Dean said with an alluring wink. “C’mon. Fire. Now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ass,” Castiel grumbled. But he focused. He tried to seek the power that had come spraying out in waves string enough to crack the earth and kill ten dozen blood mages. He tried. But it wasn’t there to be found. He grunted with effort</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna shit yourself?” Dean asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” Castiel said. He just managed to stave off a blush at his own language. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Awwww, the cleric’s first real curse,” Dean said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How can you even tell if the flames <em>aren't</em> higher?” Castiel asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I can see a little, bitch,” Dean fired back and froze. Castiel was startled. What had he done?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dean?” He asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Try harder, Cas.” All the boyish jokes were drained out of Dean’s voice. He sounded every bit a tired soldier who was having to teach some new useless charge. The change was so abrupt that Castiel didn’t even come up with a retort. He just tried harder. And harder. He focused on the flames. At most they crackled and sent a stray ember up into the mouth of the cave to land in the still-deep snow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not working,” Castiel said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re focusing on the fire and trying to bend it to your will. Magic has nothing to do with that. The magic bends the flames, you tell the magic your will,” Dean said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And how do I tell the magic my will?” Castiel asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Through intention and a tithe,” Dean explained. “That’s magic. Attention and tithe. So focus on your tithe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Castiel focused on his emotions, which were uneasy, but generally calm. Nothing. The flames sputtered petulantly. Castiel was ready to smother them in snow, cold be damned. But he’d been born in Astia and he knew how stupid such an idea was to have even crossed his mind. So he tried to focus on other things. The tiredness in his body. The soreness from his fight. His own heartbeat that hadn’t stopped racing since Hannah died. Nothing. Beside him, Dean sliced another finger and muttered an incantation that cleared snow away for his mare to graze the meager grass. His blood dropped onto the floor. Castiel was transfixed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Drip</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Drip</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Drip</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The flames roared so high they blacked the stone on the roof of the cave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Dean leapt back. Castiel was startled and the flames died back down to a small, steady burn. Castiel turned to Dean and blinked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “I did it,” Castiel said. But his stomach was churning. He’d tithed blood. That made him a blood mage. That was why Orsa left. He was the worst kind of sinner. He was a heretic. Castiel rushed out of the cave to vomit in the snow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey now.” In an instant Dean was beside him with a large, warm hand pressed to his back. Castiel didn’t want to take comfort from it but he did. “What’s this?” Dean asked in a tone so gentle, Castiel would have presumed him a father.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m a heretic,” Castiel said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought we already established that the gods were pissed at you,” Dean said, sounding confused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The tithe. It was your blood,” Castiel choked out as he spat the last of his vomit into the snow. He expected Dean to whoop or make a joke or say that he knew it all along. But he didn’t. He just stayed still with his hand on Castiel’s back. Castiel shivered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Dean said. “Let’s get out of the cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My goddess, Orsa, she's the goddess of the moon and the winter. This is her domain. I deserve to let her take me to the gods below,” Castiel said in anguish. Tears froze to his cheeks. It hurt but he didn’t care. He deserved this. He was everything he’d been told to fight against. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re chilled through, you idiot, and I’m not done with you. You have a promise to keep,” Dean said, his voice hardening into the commanding tone of the general of the Ragloan army. Castiel recognized such a tone from the abbot at the monastery before he died. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Castiel was helpless to stop Dean from guiding him back into the cave and in front of the fire. Dean haughtily tugged a pelt around Castiel’s shoulders. With that, Castiel dissolved into sobs. He had not been able to properly grieve over the past few days and becoming what he hated was the final straw. He knew it was un-alpha like to cry, but he couldn’t help it. He was cold and alone and everyone he’d even loved was dead or had abandoned him. He was stuck in a stupid cave with a stupid heretic on some half baked quest to end a holy war that had been going on since before Castiel was born. Gods damnit, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>allowed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to cry, just this once. It wasn’t like the gods could hear him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cas,” Dean said. And his tone was as warm as honey and Castiel wanted nothing more than to sink against him, because he was here and warm and smelled like smoke and pine—soothing pheromones. And there was another thing. Castiel shouldn’t have been so susceptible to Dean’s pheromones. The were both Alphas for the gods’ sake! Perhaps the gods had made a mistake with Castiel. He was a terrible alpha and a worse cleric. He ignored the draw of Dean’s presence and went to lay down on the bedroll alone. He cried until he fell alseep. </span>
</p><p><br/>
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